


The Perfect Gift

by moosefrog



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: M/M, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-15 00:30:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13019445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moosefrog/pseuds/moosefrog
Summary: Thorin has a surprise for Dwalin! Too bad it isn't quite what Dwalin had wanted. Dwalin dwarfs up and tells Thorin exactly what he wants.





	The Perfect Gift

**Author's Note:**

  * For [medusine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/medusine/gifts).



> This was intended as a birthday gift for [medusine](http://archiveofourown.org/users/medusine) but I am the slowest writer ever so... happy belated birthday! I hope you enjoy some Dworin feels. <3

"You," Thorin pointed at Dwalin, "come with me." He turned on his heel and stalked out of the door, letting a cold wind laced with icy snowflakes in before the door shut behind him. Dwalin looked to Dis and Balin who both shrugged their shoulders.

Thorin had been… acting odd the past few months. He'd come back from Gondor after a year-long contract and the very next morning he went out to find more work. He'd come back only to leave quickly again and when pressed he only said he had to take another job.

Even little Fili and Kili couldn't convince him to stay, although, to them at least he promised he would stay home for a whole month when he was done.

Whatever it was he was doing.

Dwalin pulled on his coat and boots and followed Thorin outside. Mahal's stones, what did Thorin want? It wasn't hard to track where Thorin had gone, the snow was deep enough that it was nearly up to the top of Dwalin's boots and there were twin rows in the snow where Thorin had struggled through a drift to a shack where they stored Dis' travelling cart and a few tools. His footprints led inside.

"Thorin?" Dwalin called out in a low voice as he pushed the door open further. It was ridiculous to prepare himself for an attack but… he wouldn't be who he was if he wasn't prepared… There was a glow of lantern light from under an old piece of canvas that was pulled over the cart's frame. When they had still be living on the road a piece of canvas like that would have protected their supplies from rain and provided shade from the wretched sun.

"In here," came the reply. Thorin didn't sound angry, or sad, or anything but carefully neutral. Dwalin liked to call that voice Thorin's Diplomat Voice. Balin spoke like that, too, when he was being official. Or officious. Dwalin supposed learning how to talk like a diplomat had been part of the lessons he got to skip out on and he didn't regret that.

"Yer acting like an elf with a nut," Dwalin grumbled as he circled around the cart and stepped up into it. "What're ye--" As he took in the interior of the cart, he abruptly stopped talking. The bed of the cart was piled high with furs and blankets. A few of them looked like the spares Dis kept around for the really cold nights. There was a small, low table, with a cold meal laid out, square in the middle of the cart and a lantern hung from the frame overhead beside a single brazier also hanging from the frame. The pair created a decent amount of heat and light. He even saw a small keg, already tapped, off to the side and there were two mugs of frothy ale waiting.

"Take your boots off," Thorin said. Dwalin glanced at Thorin's feet and saw he was, indeed, only wearing the blue and red striped wool socks Dis had made him. Dwalin's boots quickly joined Thorin's outside of the cart and he crawled over to Thorin and sat opposite him at the table. It was already warm inside the cart and he'd probably have to shed his heavy coat before too long.

"What's all this then?" he demanded. There'd been a perfectly good, hot, supper waiting for them inside and Thorin wanted to play house out in the shed? Dwalin wasn't amused. "Is this some sort of secret meeting?"

Thorin scowled and speared a slice of sausage on his knife. "It's called dinner," he said.

Dwalin's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Aye, and there was hot dinner inside."

"This is different," Thorin said. He chewed the sausage and didn't look Dwalin in the eyes. He seemed a bit flustered.

"Fine. Ye'll tell me in yer own time, I suppose." In the meantime, Dwalin would be happy to eat supper out in the cold then a second supper when they got back inside. He sliced himself some sausage and cheese and paused. He thought he could smell cinnamon but that wasn't very likely. Getting cinnamon this far West wasn't very likely and even if the traders came this far no Ereborean dwarf would've had the gold to purchase it.

They ate in silence. Usually when they were together and quiet the silence was companionable but this time the silence seemed awkward. There was a tension in the air that came from Thorin. Dwalin calmly ate and watched Thorin. He watched the way he only picked at his food, which usually meant he was feeling some strong emotion… like anger. He watched the way Thorin stole glances at him only to look away when Dwalin made eye contact. And he watched the way Thorin's hand kept drifting off to the side only to be snatched back to his lap.

Finally, Dwalin had had enough. "Spit it out! The ale is nice but ye cannot just sit there like a twitchy lump and expect me to understand what this is all about!"

The emotions that played across Thorin's face were easily interpreted by Dwalin. He knew Thorin's face as well as he knew his own. No, better, because he spent more time looking at Thorin than he'd ever spent looking at himself. Surprise, annoyance, a suppressed urge to lie, then finally… resignation.

Thorin sighed. "I… I've… Erg, why is this so difficult?" He twisted his body so he could retrieve whatever it was his hand had kept straying towards and pulled an earthenware jar out of the mess of furs and blankets where he'd hidden it. "Here. These are for you." He plunked the jar on the table and pushed it towards Dwalin.

The ceramic lid of the jar was tied shut with thick blue yarn which Dwalin carefully untied with his big, calloused fingers. Why had Thorin gotten him a gift? It wasn't Durin's Day. It wasn't his birthday. He wriggled the jar lid off and the smell, the wonderful smell, of cinnamon and sugar wafted up.

The jar was filled with cookies! They were thick and round with specks of cinnamon and the sugar crystals on top sparkled when the lamplight hit them. Dwalin's mouth watered but his brain was still confused. "Where'd ye get these?"

The anxious look of anticipation on Thorin's face melted and was replaced with a wan smile and evasive eyes. "I, uh, I made them." He said it like he felt Dwalin wouldn't believe him.

He was right.

"Ye made these? For me? You?" Dwalin delicately removed a cookie and held it up to the light. The bottom was browned a bit too much but it was still soft enough not to crumble when he squeezed it.

Thorin hunched his shoulders. "I wanted it to be a surprise. I've been… traveling to this nearby town to learn from the baker there."

"Ye've been— huh. I suppose ye went that far so no one here would know what ye were up to?," Dwalin said. Then he took a bite of the cookie and chewed thoughtfully. Thorin watched him chew and seemed to be holding his breath. Did Thorin come home from Gondor with a fire under his butt to make cookies? It was a good cookie but why? That's what Dwalin didn't understand. "Mm, it's good. It's sweet and the cinnamon is just the right amount."

The tension Thorin had been carrying suddenly drained out of him and he leaned back against the side of the cart. "Oh thank Mahal!" he exclaimed. "You have no idea how many eggs and how much milk and sugar I had to go through to get it right! Baking does not come naturally to me."

Dwalin choked on his mouthful of cookie and had to gulp down his mug of ale to clear it out. "Ye numpty lump! Is that why ye've been working so much? You've had to pay for cookie stuffs?" He instantly regretted saying it when he saw the open, relaxed smile on Thorin's face vanish only to be replaced by the stony mask he wore when he was hiding how he really felt. He used it a lot when he was doing royal business. "Er, I mean, they're good cookies but why? Why all of this? Why work so hard fer cookies?"

"It wasn't for cookies you lump!" The skin above Thorin's beard flushed red and he thumped the small table with his fists. "I did it for you! Because you like cookies and I wanted to make you something you liked!"

A second cookie was required to help Dwalin try to draw out the meaning of Thorin's words. They really were tasty and he could appreciate how much work had gone into making one batch that Thorin had felt would be acceptable. No wonder it had taken months… Thorin was a perfectionist. What sort of internal debate had he hosted when this batch of cookies had come out a bit too brown on the bottom? Why would Thorin have said, 'good enough' instead of immediately chucking the imperfect batch in the garbage and trying again? It seemed to speak of impatience which Thorin rarely showed with his creations. And to use such an expensive ingredient like cinnamon? (Which was Thorin's favourite and something he usually hoarded for himself.) He chewed slowly and stared at his friend thoughtfully. "Aye, I like cookies. Love 'em, in fact." Thorin's gaze immediately dropped to a spot on the table between his fists.

"Th-that's why I made them," he said in a hoarse voice.

Tumblrs turned in Dwalin's head and it felt like something unlocked. Oh! OH! His heart squeezed and he felt a bit light-headed. He dropped the uneaten half of his cookie back in the jar and set it aside so he could cover Thorin's fists with his hands. "I love 'em all the more for ye having made them for me, ye lump."

"I… I didn't know how to tell you..." Thorin kept his head down and Dwalin could feel his fists tighten.

"Aye, I expect ye didn't." Maybe now wouldn't be the time to tell Thorin he didn't hide his emotions as well as he thought he did. Or maybe he just knew Thorin well enough that Thorin couldn't hide them from him? "Did ye think I didn't know?"

Thorin slowly looked up at Dwalin. His cheeks were red and there was a watery look to his eyes. Aw, the big sap. Dwalin squeezed his fists gently.

"I just didn't know… fer sure," Dwalin confessed. And with Thorin being king and all, he had been reluctant to make the first move in case it made things awkward between them if Thorin turned him down. Thorin likely would've, too, citing his duties and responsibilities being more important than his feelings; he was the sort who had to settle things in his own mind, first. Mahal only knew how many years it had taken Thorin to recognize what he felt then finally accept it. And when he'd accepted it… of course he'd work himself to the bone over the perfect way to express himself.

"I… also," Thorin swallowed. "I also didn't know for certain, until that last contract in Gondor." They'd fought about Thorin going alone to Gondor. Dwalin had already picked up a job and wouldn't be able to go with him and with Thorin's history of getting into trouble… "My thoughts often were of you. I… missed you. Terribly."

"I missed ye, too," Dwalin said. They could leave it like this; still with the thing they felt for each other unspoken but Thorin was dancing around the word 'love' without actually saying it and that hurt a little. If Thorin could trust anyone, couldn't he trust him with his heart? "But I still don't know fer sure, Thorin. On account you don't seem to know fer sure."

"What? But, I just said..." Thorin looked confused and there was an edge to his voice.

"Aye, you just said you missed me. Friends can miss each other. Family can miss each other. I'm no blushing dwarrowdam who'll hang her hopes on a single talk where we dance around the real words that need to be said."

"Yer my king, Thorin, and ye'll always be my king, but if ye want to be something more ye'll have to be square and honest with me." Dwalin felt the tension in Thorin's fists as they clenched harder. He knew he was taking a risk. Forcing Thorin, who was famous for his ugly temper, to do anything was always a risk but to do when he was already feeling vulnerable could be a serious mistake to make.

“I love ye, Thorin, but I gotta hear ye say you feel the same.”

“I spent weeks... ” Thorin growled and Dwalin cut him off.

“Aye. Ye spent weeks when ye could’ve said three words and had the same results. Ye spent weeks avoiding saying those words even tho ye feel them in yer heart.” Dwalin tightened his grip on Thorin’s fists. “I appreciate what ye’ve done, Thorin, it’s traditional to craft something for the person ye love, but I need to hear ye say ye love me.”

The look on Thorin’s face said he was on the verge of unleashing his anger and storming off dramatically but he wasn’t moving. He just sat there, glaring at Dwalin, his fists clenched tight in Dwalin’s grip, rendered immobile by the emotional war raging between his head and heart. Then something seemed to break in Thorin and his stiff back softened.

“I.. I am not whole without you by my side,” he whispered hoarsely. “Losing the chance to be with you because I cannot say three, small, words is… it is madness.” His shoulders hunched defensively when he uttered the word, ‘madness’. “I…” He cleared his throat and stared at the table for a long moment before he took a deep breath and met Dwalin’s eyes.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t just say the words. I.. I was scared you wouldn’t feel the same way.”

“Aye, but do ye think it was any less scary for me to say them first?” Dwalin said. He wasn’t going to let Thorin weasel out of this. “Yer a king and a warrior, Thorin. Ye’ve faced down horrors and stood strong while doing so. And ye can’t say three words to me?”

Thorin bristled at the implied cowardice and Dwalin had to fight not to grin. He knew how to push Thorin’s buttons.

“I. Love. You,” Thorin managed to push the words past gritted teeth and it wasn’t the most romantic declaration ever but it was the three words Dwalin had been wanting to hear. Thorin sighed with relief for finally having uttered his love out loud and made up for the terrible first time by repeating, “I love you,” in a low, intense tone of voice that made Dwalin weak in the knees.

“I love ye, too.” Dwalin grinned and pulled Thorin’s hands to his mouth, pulling Thorin up off of his knees and halfway across the table in the process, to kiss his knuckles. “And ye best believe it’s a love that’ll last.”

“A love like mithril; strong and light and eternal?” Thorin asked it with a smile on his face. Dwalin could never say no to Thorin’s smile.

“Aye. Love that will last until the end of the world, ye sap.”

“Give me one of your cookies.”

“Not a chance.”


End file.
